


Harry Granger and the Mirror of Erised

by FedoraFerret



Series: The Harry Granger Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedoraFerret/pseuds/FedoraFerret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a dentist opens his door and finds a little boy on the porch, he hasn't the slightest clue who he's taking into his home. Ten years later, that same little boy will enter a fantastic world, where magic mirrors tell you your deepest desires, a gruesome ogre fails basic English, and a familiar and malevolent spirit seeks a stone of great power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Very Weird Day

**Author's Note:**

> Official notice of officialness: This story is intensely AU, featuring major differences from canon. However, only one of these changes is by my direct intervention. Every single other alteration is in some way caused by the original. Most will not go directly explained. You are free to speculate. You are also free to ask. Thank you for your time.

It was as average a morning as one would expect for two young dentists and their two year old daughter in the small suburb of Ashford. Wendell Granger was the first awake, as was normal. He enjoyed early mornings; it meant an hour of solitude with a coffee and a good book.

The Grangers were an average suburban family, in an average suburban home. Wendell was a tall, broad shouldered man, his face clean-shaven and his hair well groomed, looking every bit the handsome gentleman. Monica was nearly a head shorter than him, completely befitting her gentle presence. The way her honey blond curls fell around her face and the soft features of her face honestly made him fall in love with her again every day. Their daughter, Hermione, had inherited all the best parts of both of them. Her mother's mouth, her father's eyes, and for some strange reason her Uncle Lloyd's nose. Much like her father, she had an intense love of books, and spent most of her time trying to figure out how to read them. The current office pool was how soon she'd figure it out.

The doorbell rang, knocking Wendell from his concentration on his book. He scowled in the direction of the door, and then glanced at the clock. Seven o' clock, too early for visitors of any sort,  _especially_  uninvited. He stood, snapping  _Inferno_  shut as he did so-Dante was always his favorite. He walked straight to the door and opened it just as the squeal of tires hit his ears, and he barely caught the sight of a beige car speeding away. He squinted. No one was on his porch. He looked into the bushes on the left, half-expecting to find a bunch of teenagers hiding there, and then panned to the bushes on the right. He stopped, though, when he caught sight of something in front of the door.

A baby in a basket.

Well, a toddler, actually, albeit a small one. A toddler with a shock of black hair and a suspiciously fresh looking scar zigzagging across his forhead.

The first few moments of confusion were completely understandable. However, being the intelligent and sensible person that he was, Wendell took it in stride. His first action, obviously, was to read the note pinned to the child's blanket.

_To the residents of this house,_

_I would like to apologize in advance for the burden I have placed upon you. The boy's name is Harry. His mother is my wife's sister, who died in a car crash the other night along with her husband. The boy was left on our doorstep by some crackpot old fool they knew, with the expectation of us to care for him. As we have long since disowned that branch of the family, and as any mention of my wife's sister upsets her, I have chosen your home at random to leave him at. I ask you understand that I mean nothing personal by it, and merely wish to get rid of him before my wife finds out. In a perfect world no one would have to deal with his kind._

_Pinned to the back is a letter with pertinent details. Certain portions have been omitted to protect our identities._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Vernon_

Wendell stared at the note for a moment, and could only think to himself that either he was being scammed, or this boy's uncle was a complete and utter prick. Personally he was leaning towards the latter.

He picked up the basket and looked at the boy, Harry, inside. He still slept, but it appeared fitful; his hands were clenched in small fists, and kept shifting around, not quite tossing and turning but close. Sighing, Wendell brought him inside. He had no idea what was going to happen to Harry, but he couldn't very well keep him on the lawn until they figured it out.

He set Harry down on the kitchen table and reached around the basket, grabbing the letter that this Vernon character had mentioned. As the man had mentioned, numerous things had been blacked out, far more than he had expected. Not just a name or two, but full sentences and even an entire paragraph. Most notably, the parents' cause of death.

"Well if that isn't suspicious I don't know what is." Wendell rubbed his chin, attempting to decipher what he could of the letter. Not much made sense, save for a single paragraph that was left untouched with necessary information.

"Let's see here, born at the end of July, probably last year… blood type… vaccinations… allergic to kumquats… not much else on medicals, he'll need a full checkup…" this was Wendell's Doctor Granger mode. He was actually a licensed physician, and fairly good at that. He had quit, finding himself unable to face death on a daily basis, but always kept up to date and renewed his license regularly, just in case.

Unable to discern anything else important from the letter, he instead turned back to Vernon's note. In university he had gone through a mystery novel phase, always trying to solve the mystery before the detective, and had gotten quite good at reading between lines.

Harry's aunt was upset when reminded of her sister. She had been alive before two days ago, so it wasn't grief. Therefore, it was dislike. Vernon apparently shared the contempt and passed it on to the child. He'd mentioned "his kind" in a derogatory way, so it was probably some form of discrimination, probably toward the father since the mother and the aunt were related. Harry looked European, though, so it couldn't have been racial. Few would discriminate against a child for having foreign parents, so that wasn't likely either. The only thing that Wendell could come up with was the father being a Traveller, which was almost as ridiculous as the foreigner idea, if more likely.

Whatever the reason, this Vernon character was clearly no good of a person. He had abandoned a child, his own family even if one he didn't care for, on the doorstep of a stranger, no mind for who they might be or what they might do. He cast a glance at his copy of  _Inferno_ , idly wondering if this qualified as betrayal of family.

Wendell was engrossed in his book, occasionally glancing up to make sure Harry was still asleep, when Monica came into the kitchen, Hermione in her arms.

"Hi Daddy!" Hermione exclaimed, a big smile on her face. Wendell snapped out of his fantasy of Vernon frozen in the ninth circle of hell and smiled back at his little girl.

"Good morning sweetness." He walked over and planted a big kiss on his daughter's cheek. She giggled and wiped it off, citing "daddy cooties." Monica, meanwhile, was looking at the basket, unable to see its contents.

"Wendell, what's in the basket?" She asked.

"A little boy," he answered cheekily, already used to the idea. Monica rolled her eyes, an action which Hermione mimicked, and moved over to look inside. The moment she did, she jumped back and shrieked. The sudden sharp noise awoke little Harry, who took in the unfamiliar surroundings and the strange woman standing over him, and proceeded to scream.

* * *

Once Harry had been calmed down, things proceeded in a sort of whirlwind. The police were notified of Harry's random appearance, but there were no reports of a missing one year old boy with black hair and emerald green eyes. An entire day passed of what the police called "standard operating procedure" but which seemed to Wendell to be a load of tosh. As far as he could tell if no one had reported missing Harry then obviously no one would respond to being asked "have you lost this child?"

Then came the child protection specialists, three men and a woman who stood in his kitchen over the boy and argued over the most convenient thing to do with him. What got to Wendell was how they seemed uninterested in what was  _best_  for Harry himself. Having a small child of his own gave him a paternal instinct which had extended to Harry in the course of a day spent with him. And so, the moment the group of "specialists" came to the conclusion that Wool's Orphanage in London would be the perfect place Wendell stepped in.

"That won't be necessary gentlemen." The politeness in his words did not mask the distaste in his voice. "I believe I speak for my wife and I both when I say we'd be happy to watch after him until a more suitable foster family can be found." His formal, if hostile, tone easily won him sway with the social workers (whom he suspected didn't even catch the hostility in the first place).

Wendell had said it exactly how he meant it-they were going to keep him for the time being until actual foster parents could be found. What he had not expected, however, was for he and Monica (who had been drawn into the discussion after getting the children situated in Hermione's room) to be talked into registering  _as_  actual foster parents. By the time it was all over, the couple was certain that only a few hours had passed, and yet almost the entire day had been eaten up. Seven PM had rolled around, and already it was time to put the children (the plural sent a shiver down Wendell's spine) to bed and have dinner. In other words, a busy day. And yet, when it finally came to an end and he sat in the living room, enjoying a small glass of wine and the nightly news (nine kinds of insanity, between the owls and the spontaneous meteor showers), he smiled slightly. All that had happened today, he decided, came out to be a good thing.


	2. A Clever Constrictor

In the nine years that passed since that long and fast day, very little actually changed at 21 Everett Drive. It was still an ordinary four bedroom house with a crisply cut front lawn and a well-maintained back garden. Venturing inside revealed very little change as well. The furniture was still good, after all, and they hardly had animals to tear them up. The bookshelves present in every room had increased in number, of course, and had become double-stacked over time, while the pictures hung on the walls and mantle had expanded to include pictures of the children growing up, as well as one or two of Owen, Monica's sister's son.

Only two rooms saw marked change. The first was, of course, Hermione's room, as she was no longer a two year old. Her tiny bed had been replaced with a much larger one and the bright pink-with-butterflies walls were now a muted purple. You could only tell this from the ceiling, though, as the walls were lined with nearly as many bookshelves as existed in the rest of the house, all just as overstuffed.

The second was what had once been a guest room. Here there was only one shelf of books, filled with fantasy and science fiction as opposed to the classical literature of Hermione's collection. A small football trophy sat cheerfully on a desk with a computer and a few stacks of comics. As a bedroom, there was of course a bed, soft and warm and oh so very comfortable. And beneath its covers lay a small, cozy lump, which was about to be quite rudely awakened.

"Harry!" The lump groaned. That voice could only come from one source. A sharp rapping at the door followed. "Harry! Get up, it's the field trip today!" The lump groaned again, and shifted. "Harry, I swear if you make me late, I'll make you regret it." With a sigh, the lump pushed up, and the covers fell away, revealing ten year old Harry James Granger. There wasn't an inch of him that doubted his sister's threat.

Ten minutes later, Harry was bounding down the stairs, fully dressed and groomed and ready for the day. Their parents were already gone, as was normal for a weekday, so Harry and Hermione were left to make breakfast for themselves. Hermione already had her normal toast and marmalade and had a strange expression that Harry recognized as her poker face. He sighed and opened the cupboard to find that, indeed, his cereal had been moved to a higher shelf just out of his reach.

"So what's this revenge for?"

"The sparkler incident." He could hear her smirk now.

"You realize that this is a horrible prank in comparison, yeah?" Harry jumped, trying to swipe the box down.

"And yet it's just as satisfying," she snickered, as Harry failed to knock it down yet again. He sighed again and went to grab a chair, cursing his shortness. He was easily smallest in their year at school, and not just because he was the youngest; most of the year below them were taller than him too. Harry had long ago decided that it was completely unfair for Hermione to get their father's genes while he didn't.

As it happened, Harry knew he was adopted. Not because his parents had told him or anything, but because any idiot who looked at their family tree could see it. In a long line of bushy brown and sleek blond, his hair was messy and blacker than night. Every family reunion saw brown eyes, blues, grays, ambers, and even some lavender. Not a single bit of green like his. Perfect vision as well, each and every one of them, save Harry, who wore contacts. And of course, in terms of height he ranked last amongst his family as well.

He didn't care, of course. Why would he? His parents loved him all the same, as did Hermione (who, true to form, had figured it out months before him). He was no less a Granger for having been born something else. He was a bit curious about his birth parents, of course, but more an intellectual one. He was perfectly happy with his family, thank you very much.

Harry wolfed down his cereal fairly quickly, and though she remained ladylike about it Hermione was eating faster than usual as well. They'd both been looking forward to this field trip to the zoo for weeks. Fortunately, Harry's year-long ban had ended the month before. It hadn't been a fair ban anyway. Honestly, how had he been to know you weren't allowed to ride the rhinos?

* * *

From the beginning Harry wasn't quite enjoying the zoo trip. It wasn't bad, of course, as they had added a few new animals since his last visit and it was amusing to see the elephants did, in fact, remember everything, as they shied away the moment one spotted him, but between the zoo's paranoia and Mr. Lucas' own "special precautions" he was really,  _really_  limited. His little group of friends and co-conspirators had been separated from him almost immediately when they were put into groups, all under strict chaperoning. Harry himself was under explicit watch. If anyone noticed him up to anything funny, he had already been told he was out.

For most kids, this wouldn't be a problem. For Harry, it was a massive buzzkiller. Without his friends around to joke with, and lacking the ability to play pranks, there was literally nothing to do. Harry couldn't even learn that much as he and Hermione had both been to this same zoo a few times and not much had changed over the years.

In short, Harry was bored. This, as it happened, was never a good thing.

The Reptile House was a large, dark building in the middle of the zoo, kept cool and dimly lit for the benefit of the cold blooded animals. Its inhabitants mainly consisted of snakes and lizards, although there was also a crocodile that caught Harry's interest for a few minutes during feeding time. That was soon lost, however, when he found the boa constrictor.

At first glance it didn't seem very interesting. It was curled up, asleep and intent on ignoring everyone who passed by. But that was not a deterrent to another boy who was here with his parents. The best way that Harry could think to describe him was a pig in a wig; very overweight, his head a mop of smartly cut blond hair that nevertheless made him look ridiculous. As Harry passed by he was tapping on the glass to the boa's cage, ignoring the sign which quite clearly said not to do so. Harry stopped, uncertain of why he did so. Perhaps it was the absurdity that a boy that large could even exist, or maybe it was annoyance at the rude way he insisted on trying to wake the snake up from its nap. But for whatever reason, Harry found him interesting.

"Oi," he called out. The pig in a wig turned to face him, a glare on his pudgy face.

"What?"

"I think that snake's trying to sleep."

"So?" The tone in his voice had Harry plotting his humiliating demise instantly.

"So how would you like it if you were having a lie-in and someone started banging on your door?"

The boy just grunted. At that particular moment a man came up, and Harry understood  _exactly_  how a boy as large as this could exist: genetics.

"Is this boy bothering you Dudley?" He stared Harry down with a clear expression of disapproval on his face.

"Uh-huh! I was just trying to look at the snake and he started lecturing me about leaving it alone!" Harry snorted, and Dudley's father shot him a glare.

"Is that so, boy?"

"Actually, sir," Harry replied, using the most respectful tone he could for the unpleasant man. "Your son was tapping on the glass, even though the sign says not to, to wake that snake up from its nap." The man's sneer didn't fade.

"My Dudders can do whatever he wants. It's his birthday after-" He was forced to cut himself off when Harry broke down into a fit of laughter.

"Dudders?" He gasped between laughs. "Are you serious?" Whether the man was serious or not, Harry wouldn't find out, because they were interrupted by one of the chaperones for the trip.

"Granger," he snapped. "What did we say about behaving yourself!" She turned to Dudders (Harry snorted again) and his father. "I hope he hasn't given you any trouble, sir."

"Not at all," the father replied, the most unpleasant smile in history on his face. "He was just bothering my son is all. We'll be heading over that way, so as to avoid it happening again." Harry could literally hear the evil in his voice, but stayed quiet. The chaperone glared down at Harry as they left.

"Young man, I don't know what you think you're doing. That you were let on this trip at all is a miracle. One more toe out of line and you'll be going to wait on the bus, understood?" Harry threw her a mock salute, which didn't help him at all, but was completely true to form for him. She shook her head and walked away in an attempt to watch over the other students.

Harry sighed, annoyed that he was now left with nothing to do, and turned around. He was surprised to find that the boa had awoken, and was now sitting straight up and staring at him. He stared back. It jerked its head in the direction Dudley had gone, and Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, I hate bullies too. Make everything less pleasant for the rest of us." Was it Harry's imagination, or did the snake just nod? He shook his head. Clearly he was going delusional. He leaned in a bit closer to read the placard. "Native to Brazil. Sounds nice." This time Harry was certain that his imagination wasn't running wild, because the snake was now using its tail to point and no trick of light could do that. "'Born in captivity...'" Ah, what the hell, might as well roll with it. "That's got to suck. Trapped behind glass your entire life." The boa definitely nodded again. Harry started to say something else, but was suddenly hit with what could only have been a small whale.

"Dad, come check out what the snake is doing!" Yep, small whale.

Before Harry could stand up and tell the boy named Dudders off, there was a splash and a scream, which was quickly followed by a chorus more. Harry rolled over to see what all the fuss was about, and his eyes widened with panic; the glass in front of the boa's cage was gone. Not broken, not moved, it had literally vanished. Dudley, who had been pressing against it when it did its disappearing act, was now in a small pool of water, and the snake was slithering out over his body. It quickly disappeared into the chaos that was quickly erupting, people panicking and running around as they were wont to do, but before it did Harry could have sworn he heard a hissing voice shouting over the din, shouting "Brazil here I come! Obrigado amigo!"


	3. The Orchid Bush

 

By the time the panic began wearing off Harry's… amigo had already vanished. Vaguely he wondered how the boa intended to get to Brazil, but he dismissed the thought immediately. Clearly he'd been hearing things, and that had just been a very clever and well trained snake making a bid for freedom.

"Harry!" The boy in question turn around, and found two of his three best friends, Maggy and Devon, running up to him. Maggy, being even smaller than Harry, was able to slip through the terrified mob, which had now stopped screaming and was demanding answers from a frantic zookeeper. "What on earth is going on?" Harry's pointed backwards at the now empty snake enclosure, where Dudley was still trying to push himself out.

"Glass disappeared, a snake escaped, and I swear I had nothing to do with it." Maggy snorted just as Devon arrived. "Where's Eric anyway?" Devon shrugged.

"No idea. We bumped into each other while we were looking for you, the entire place is going up in a riot and we figured where there's smoke-"

"There's Harry," Harry finished, grinning. The other two returned it. "I really didn't do it though. I was just having a pleasant conversation with the snake-don't ask-and that tub of lard over there shoved me out of the way. Next thing I know everyone's screaming and there's a boa constrictor on the loose."

Before they could speak anymore the chaperone from earlier pushed her way over to them and grabbed Harry by the arm, dragging him away to a yelp.

"OW! What the hell, woman?"

"Don't take that tone of voice with me young man. I warned you to toe the line, and what do you? You let a snake loose."

"But I didn't-"

"You've done some reckless and irresponsible things in the past but this is absolutely unbelievable! That thing could have attacked someone!"

"It didn't-"

"Unfortunately I can't give you detention for life on a field trip, but when your parents hear about this-"

"What? NO!"

"Any punishment they'll give is better than you deserve. Lord knows they probably don't even use a cane."

Well no, but Dad's disappointed voice was probably ten times worse.

* * *

"Are you serious?"

Harry didn't answer. His father was currently giving him the most supremely disapproving look in the history of forever while he sat in an armchair in their living room.

"You let a snake loose. A dangerous snake. In the middle of a crowded zoo." Still Harry didn't talk. It was clearly not a question, but a statement. An incorrect statement, but a statement nonetheless. "I shouldn't be surprised. I really, really shouldn't. Not after the rhino incident. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Only that I didn't do it." It was probably a bad idea to get cheeky when his father was disappointed.

"Oh? And I'm supposed to believe that because?"

"How exactly am I supposed to make three inch plate glass disappear?"

"You lost the 'that's not possible' excuse when you turned your teacher's hair blue. I don't know how you did it. I don't care how you did it. Mrs. Price said that you were the only one near the snake when it happened, and your record is against you." Harry said nothing. "You're grounded. Two months. You come out of your room for school, football practice and meals only. Am I understood?"

"What about the loo?"

"Nice, Harry. Good response, really, I'm quite proud of that one." It needs not be said that sarcasm was dripping from Dad's voice. "Room. Now."

Harry stood and followed instructions, silently fuming all the way. Was it really so hard to believe that he was innocent? Yes, he'd done some stupid things in the past, and he'd cheerfully gone along with his punishment on realizing how very stupid it was. But he'd never done anything that could hurt anyone, and never would. True, much longer bonding with the snake and he might have staged a daring rescue but to unleash it on a crowd was far beyond him.

He climbed the stairs to find Hermione, clearly attempting to eavesdrop even though Dad's "I'm very disappointed in you" voice was far too low to hear from there.

"So?" She asked.

"Two months."

"You deserve it you know," Hermione replied, her eyes expressing the same disapproving sentiment that Dad had. "Really Harry, on your top ten list of stupid moves this was easily number one."

"So you don't believe me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I said I didn't." This answer seemed to surprise Hermione, so he went on. "When have I ever failed to admit that I've screwed up horribly?" Hermione didn't have an answer. Harry just pushed past her and went for his room, throwing the door shut behind him and falling onto his bed with a sigh.

Dad had been right about exactly one thing; all signs did point to him. It would hardly be the first unexplainable thing that had happened around him, although Hermione was a bit of a weirdness magnet as well. And he wasn't exactly a perfect angel to be taken at his word, either. Still, it hurt that they all thought him capable of something like that.

* * *

It was easily Harry's longest, and worst, punishment yet. Shortly after coming to his room Mum had come in, instilling a feeling of guilt that wasn't even deserved with only her eyes, and dragged his bookshelf away, and then his computer. It seemed he was to be left completely to his thoughts for the duration of his two-month grounding. Harry took it without complaint, knowing that any protests would go ignored, and spent most of his time staring at the ceiling.

Unfortunately, his time outside his temporary cell wasn't the most pleasant either. At school he had gone from being a fairly well-liked boy to a pariah; everyone except Eric, Devon and Maggy blamed him for cutting short their one field trip of the year. They alone believed his innocence and stuck by him, but it was still difficult taking the cold shoulders and glares. Football practice, while liberating, just wasn't much fun anymore. Harry wasn't sure why that was, because it had begun losing its luster a while before the Incident of the Vanishing Glass, as it was being called around school.

Meals were, surprisingly, the best time. By the time a week had passed his parents seemed to have forgiven him, taking his submission as admitting he'd been wrong, and were talking to him as normal. Hermione remained largely quiet at first as well, apparently lost in thought, which was very unusual for her and only seemed to happen then. At school she was her normal bossy, know-it-all self. Harry wasn't quite certain of why at first, but it readily became apparent when, one night after he was sent back off to his room without pudding, there was a knock on his door. When he opened it nobody was there, but plate of cake sat on the floor with a plastic fork. He gave a small smile. Hermione, at least, seemed to think he was innocent.

A ping shook Harry out of his boredom. School had let out for the summer two weeks before, but there were still three days left on his grounding. He just sat there at first, certain solitary confinement had begun to make him delusional again (his league's official football season had ended a while ago as well, keeping him trapped in his home if not just his room). Then there was another ping, from the direction of the window. He stepped over to it, curious, and pulled it open, just in time to get hit in the forehead with a small stone.

"Ouch," Harry hissed.

"Sorry mate," came a whispered voice from below. He looked down, and there were Eric, Devon and Maggy standing in the back garden, the second of whom looked rather sheepish. He grinned down at them.

"What are you guys doing here?" He kept his voice low; while his parents were at work, Hermione was in the sitting room, and despite the occasional offering of sweets at his door there was nothing that would get her to let him off of a direct order from Mum and Dad.

"Just thought we'd pop in for a visit," Eric smirked at him. "Say hi, maybe have some tea, possibly a biscuit if you've got any." Harry rolled his eyes and stepped away. It was hardly the first time he'd been grounded, or any of them for that matter, and so they'd all had a great deal of practise getting into each other's rooms from the outside. Harry's was easiest, as the windows had both upper and lower edges, making scaling easy for the experienced climber. Within seconds Maggy was in, followed by the two boys.

The next hour was one of the best Harry had had in weeks. Much of his time alone had been spent wondering what his little band of misfits had been up to, and the three had wasted no time in regaling him with stories of adventure and pranking, one of which they'd just come from. It became an effort not to laugh too loudly.

"So it's all gone sideways at this point," Maggy was saying. "Dev's arm is elbow deep in pudding, the old woman is under the net, I've completely forgotten what I'm supposed to do with the shoe, and Eric is hanging upside down in a tree-" She would have continued, but the doorbell rang at that point; a good thing too, as Harry's side was virtually tearing open from repressed laughter and the others, despite having just come from this mishap, were faring just as poorly. Now that they couldn't rely on Hermione being engrossed in whatever book she was reading this week, Maggy fell silent, and Harry crept closer to the hallway, listening as the front door opened and waiting patiently until it closed.

Seconds passed, then minutes. Harry furrowed his brow. They were meant to turn people away as soon as possible when Mum and Dad weren't home, whether they were salesmen or visitors. When the door finally did close, he didn't hear Hermione's footsteps going back to the sitting room; they were headed straight up the stairs. His eyes went wide, and he spun, sending his friends their signal for "HIDE, YOU FOOLS!" They stared for a moment, and then jumped away in a panicked frenzy, Eric sliding into the closet, Devon diving beneath the bed and Maggy tucking and rolling beneath the computer desk. Harry took two long strides and then leapt onto the bed, earning a muffled grunt from Devon. He assumed his normal position, lying straight out and staring at the ceiling, just in time for Hermione's knocking at the door.

"Harry?"

"Yeah Hermione?" She opened the door slightly and poked her head in.

"You need to come to the back garden." Harry's eyebrows brushed his hairline.

"… I'm grounded."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'm grounded, and you're telling me to leave me room."

"Yes, I realize that," Hermione replied, her tone annoyed and impatient. "But it seems rather important and I'm sure Mum and Dad will understand." Harry shrugged.

"If you're telling me to do this it has to be big. I'll be down in a second."

Hermione nodded and left, closing the door behind her. Obviously she thought he was going to change or something, having been in these clothes for three days. It actually didn't sound like a bad idea, now that he thought of it. He yanked off his shirt as his friends poked out of their hiding spots.

"Alright mates," he whispered while pulling on a clean shirt. "I'm going to see what's so important that Hermione wants to break a punishment for it. You lot watch from the window, you know how well sound carries from there." Off went his jeans, and he, in spectacular ten year old boy fashion, completely failed to notice his one female friend's blush as he put on a fresh pair.

Quick as a flash Harry was out the door and bolting down the stairs towards his first taste of freedom in quite some time. He bounded through the open back door, taking in a large whiff of fresh air, but stopped when he saw that he and Hermione were not alone. There was a woman there, a rather severe looking one in a black dress completely unsuited to the weather, and a hat that wouldn't be out of place on a witch. The woman turned to face him and nodded.

"And you must be the young Mister Granger, I presume."

"Er… yeah?" He threw Hermione her own "What's going on" look, to which she responded with a shrug.

"Ms. McGonagall insisted she speak to both of us. I couldn't let her in the house, because Mum and Dad aren't here, so here we are." Harry nodded, though he didn't quite understand the urgency.

"I do apologize, Mister and Miss Granger," McGonagall said. "Ordinarily I wouldn't have a problem, but I cannot make these visits during the evening and if, as Miss Granger says, your parents are going to be gone during the day until August, there will be problems with enrollment."

"Enrollment?" Harry and Hermione both stared at McGonagall.

With a flourish that seemed rather unnecessary, she reached into the pocket of her dress-no, robes, Harry could see clearly now-and withdrew two letters of thick parchment, one addressed to Mister H. Granger, the other to Miss H. Granger. She held them out, allowing Harry and Hermione to each take theirs. The seal on the back, which Harry admired for a moment before tearing it open, was an intricate design consisting of a lion, snake, badger and eagle arranged in a shield with an H on the center. The letter itself was written on thick parchment, and quite surprising.

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore**

**(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**

**Dear Mr. Granger,**

**We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you should accept,**

**a representative of Hogwarts will accompany you on the date of your**

**choosing to acquire your supplies.**

**Term begins on 1 September. We await your response by no**

**later than 31 July.**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress**

Harry stared at the letter. Then looked back up at McGonagall. Then back at the letter. Then at McGonagall again. He didn't say anything, and neither did Hermione, who he was certain was in as much of a stupor as he was.

"You have quite a lovely garden," McGonagall said, finally breaking the silence.

"… yeah," Hermione replied. It was, actually. A large plot of land against the house was devoted to Mum's flowers, and she took quite a bit of pride in them. Her only failure to date were a number of orchids which sat dead in a corner, her way of reminding herself that plants were fragile and could easily die out.

About a minute more of quiet passed before Harry finally broke the tension.

"So… is this a joke or something?" McGonagall shook her head

"No, Mister Granger, it is not. I realize that it must be a shock, being told that magic is real-"

"Magic isn't real!" Hermione finally found her voice properly. "Everyone knows that, it's fiction, fantasy!"

"I assure you, Miss Granger, that it is not."

"Then why is there no evidence of magic? There's a rational explanation for everything. If we're so magical, then why haven't we done anything that can't be logically explained?"

"Er, Hermione?" Harry tentatively pushed in, wary of Hermione when she was on a rant. "We have." Hermione stopped and stared at him, realization slowly dawning. If this McGonagall woman really was serious, it would explain quite a bit. The hair colour incident, the time he'd ended up on the school roof, even the one time a pair of bullies messing with Hermione had ended up with their shoelaces tied together while Harry and co. were nowhere to be found. Mcgonagall smiled slightly, as though being struck with nostalgia.

"And the penny drops," she murmured, barely loud enough for Harry to hear. Hermione started, and the look of indignation returned to her face.

"No, all of that has to have a reasonable explanation. I demand proof that magic is real if we're going to continue with this charade." McGonagall's smile grew a bit wider, something Harry was quite certain was rare.

"Very well then, Miss Granger." She reached back into the pockets of her robes and retrieved a long, smooth stick. She flicked it behind Hermione. " _Restichidea._ " She then returned the stick to her pocket. "When you've made your decision just send a letter through your mail addressed to Hogwarts with the most convenient date to go for school supplies." And then she disappeared, a crack of displaced air following. Hermione stared blankly, her mind coming to terms with exactly what had just happened, but Harry, open-minded that he was, had already been sold a few seconds before, due largely to the fact that where there had previously been a handful of dead flowers, there was now a very much alive and vibrant bush of orchids.


	4. Most Curious

"I'm telling you Dad, she created that bush! With magic!"

"Harry, you're three days away from freedom and a week from your birthday. Do you really want to be pulling a prank on me right now?" Dad replied, his eyes focused on the potatoes he was peeling.

"But Dad, she vanished in mid-air!" Hermione cut in.

"Not you too, Hermione."

"Daaaaaaaad!"

"Enough, both of you. Harry, go back up to your room. I'll call you down for dinner in a bit."

Harry went for the stairs, annoyed. After McGonagall's sudden departure, Hermione hadn't taken left his side, gabbing on and on about the possible ramifications of discovering that magic was real. He'd spotted his friends leaving, climbing out the window as deftly as they'd come in, and dearly hoped that they would keep mum about what they'd seen; he agreed with Hermione's conclusion that, since they'd never heard about magic being real before, it was obviously meant to be a secret. It had actually become quite an exciting thing for both of them to think about: a fantastic adventure, learning to use magical powers, attending a real live wizarding school, slaying dragons and rescuing princesses-Hermione had promptly swatted Harry in the back of the head on that comment. But then their parents got home.

Not only did they not believe their story about Professor McGonagall, the Scottish witch from the wizard's school, but they had actually scolded the pair of them for, apparently, leaving the house without permission, acquiring a bush that somehow sprouted orchids, digging up Mum's garden, and, in Harry's case, breaking his grounding. Thankfully they hadn't extended his punishment, but were instead giving them both extra chores. Still, it left a predicament; Harry and Hermione knew that magic was real. They had seen it with their own eyes. Harry was the whimsical sort who could easily believe in magic, while Hermione was the logical sort who couldn't deny what she'd seen with her own eyes. Magic had been done in front of them, so magic existed. But their parents didn't believe in magic. And it was highly unlikely, Harry thought as he flopped onto his bed, that their letter back to Hogwarts would be accepted if their parents didn't give an okay.

…

"That's it!" Harry shouted, jumping out of bed. Giddy with excitement, he sat staring at the door. Eventually, as he predicted, Hermione barged straight in without even knocking, falling back to sit next to him.

"So what's it then?" She asked.

"Aw, you heard me?"

"The entire neighborhood heard you Harry."

"Damn," Harry pouted. "I was going to toy with you for a bit." Hermione just threw him a cheeky grin. "Okay, remember what McGonagall said about sending our replies through the mail?"

"Yeah," Hermione said slowly. "But we talked about this, remember? There's no way we can go without Mum and Dad's permission."

"But who says we need their permission to accept?" Hermione just stared at him. "You know, for the cleverest girl in school you can be a bit slow sometimes." She grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Harry laughed. "The letter said that when we responded we should give a day that someone can come and take us shopping for supplies." Hermione's eyes widened as she realized what her brother was talking about.

"So we find a day Mum and Dad are both going to be home in August…"

"And we have someone come then, so they can show them magic, and we can go to Hogwarts!"

"Harry, this is the first time I've ever said this to you, and probably the last. You're a genius!"

The date was 5th August. The time was 10:13 AM. And in the Granger's sitting room, in front of the entire assembled Granger family, a woman turned into a cat.

"… well… how about that?" Dad said, shell-shocked. Professor McGonagall transformed back into a human then, picked up a cup of tea, and sat down, folding her legs in a manner that, in Harry's opinion, was far too dignified.

"So I take it I've convinced you then," she said dryly. Dad nodded.

"It's kind of hard for me to doubt you when you just turned into a cat," he said. "I'm not familiar with any trick that would make me think that."

"Well," Harry said with his snootiest voice. "I believe that you owe certain someones an apology, wouldn't you agree Father?" Hermione snorted and immediately covered her mouth, mortified. Dad just leveled a glance at him, his lips clearly fighting a grin.

"I'm sorry I doubted you kids, although you really can't blame me."

"So can we go to Hogwarts?"

"No." Instantly both Harry and Hermione's faces fell, and McGonagall frowned.

"Mr. Granger, I think it would be prudent if we discussed whatever misgivings you may have before you come to a decision. After all if your children do not learn to control their gift properly-"

"I apologise, madam, I should have been clearer before," Dad said. "I believe that you are a witch, and I believe that you did in fact turn my wife's dead flowers into a bush that sprouts orchids. But that doesn't mean that my children have any such gift-"

"I assure you Mr. Granger, all magical children have their names inscribed on the Hogwarts registrar at birth, and Harry and Hermione are most certainly there."

"Which I only have your word for," Dad countered. "You'll forgive any stereotyping, but for all I know you're going to bring them to a cottage made of gingerbread to have them for dinner. I won't be entrusting my children to a stranger with weird powers because she claims they do as well."

"What about the time I got on the roof," Harry butted in. "Or the hair thing?"

"Or all those times you told me about when my books got into my crib, when I was little?" Hermione added. He still didn't look convinced.

"Dad," Harry said quietly. "What about the snake?" As one four faces swiveled slightly to stare at him, and he blushed. "Just before the glass disappeared, this overweight bully shoved me to the ground and I got pi-er, mad. I mean, it, er, makes sense, doesn't it?" McGonagall nodded.

"Often times when a child's magic reacts it is because of strong emotions. The stronger it is, the more powerful the reaction."

"Well," Dad sighed. "I admit it's likely." Hermione and Harry leaned forward anxiously.

"I'll make you a deal, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said, with the air of someone who's reached this point before. "We'll go shopping today. There is an entire hidden alley in London that we need to visit to acquire the young Grangers' supplies. If, by the end of the day, you aren't convinced, then I will leave you be." Dad considered it for a moment, rubbing the stubble on his chin that he had proudly claimed just that morning was the beard he was going to grow.

"All right, I suppose it wouldn't hurt." The Granger siblings looked at each other with pure glee in their eyes. "Monica?" Mum looked anxiously at him for a moment.

"I suppose if we don't at least give it a chance Harry will never let us forget it." Harry's grin was all the answer she needed.

Two hours later, the Granger family arrived at the area McGonagall had directed them to before vanishing with a crack yet again and sending the parents jumping. At first Mum and Dad had walked right by the Leaky Cauldron, where they'd been told to meet the professor at, and when Hermione pointed it out to them were convinced that it was a vacant lot. In fact they remained convinced, and argued excessively until Harry finally just threw his hands up and walked across the threshold.

His apparent sudden vanishing had settled the argument quickly, and the rest of the family quickly followed him inside, where he was already chatting with McGonagall at a table.

"I'm afraid, Mister Granger, that Apparition is only taught in your sixth year." Harry groaned. "Oh, don't fret Granger, it would be useless for you to know anyway. You won't be allowed to use magic outside of school, and it's quite impossible inside." Harry just groaned louder.

"What about the whole turning into a cat thing? Can you teach me to do that? Except, you know, a tiger or something like that?"

"Not even taught at Hogwarts." McGonagall had to fight off a smirk as Harry's head hit the table, something that Hermione didn't even bother with.

"Poor Harry. You'll just have to stick to being the animal you are, won't you?" She patted him on the back teasingly, and he growled in a manner not unlike a wolf.

"Yes, well, I will say that if either of you proves talented enough in my class-Transfiguration-I may offer to teach you some time after you turn seventeen." Harry perked up, and Hermione's attention was caught as well. "Of course, it is a very difficult subject; no one has impressed me quite enough in fifteen years or so." That was precisely the wrong thing to say to Hermione, Harry thought. The twinkle in her eye meant only one thing: challenge accepted.

"Well," Dad said, thankfully interrupting before Hermione could get McGonagall started on other difficult line of thought. "I believe, Professor, that we should get going if you intend to prove me wrong. Lord knows I hope you do, after you've gotten my children so looking forward to this.

"Indeed, Mr. Granger," McGonagall nodded. "Follow me." She turned and walked swiftly to the back door of the pub, and the Grangers followed suit. Harry steeled himself for the wonderful sight he was undoubtedly about to see, and stepped out the door to reveal… an alley. An alley with a brick wall and some trash bins, and nothing else. McGonagall grinned, something Harry was certain he would never be seeing again, and pulled out the stick she'd used on the orchids.

"Pay careful attention children. Start at this bin here, go three bricks up, two to the left, and…" she tapped the specified brick. "Welcome to Diagon Alley." The Grangers watched in awe as the bricks moved from the point of McGonagall's touch, reforming themselves into an archway, the other side of which held the single most marvelous street Harry had seen in his life.

A long, narrow cobbled street stretched as far as the eye could see, loaded to the brim with shops. As McGonagall led them down it Harry instantly wished he had a dozen extra eyes. There was one store selling cauldrons in copper and bronze and gold, and another that advertised owls ("Our method of mail delivery," McGonagall explained). Quality Quidditch Supplies had a sign outside declaring the Nimbus 2000 the most cutting of edge brooms, while a little café called Molly's was apparently now selling Back To School Biscuits, which apparently helped you remember things from school you'd forgotten over the summer with every bite.

Altogether Harry was thankful that he wasn't deciding where to go first, because he honestly had no clue. He was even more thankful that Hermione wasn't making the decision, because if that were the case they'd never leave Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore he caught her eyeing hungrily at one point.

Instead their first stop was Madam Malkins, where they were fitted for the robes and hat that were part of the uniform, even though, as McGonagall mumbled under her breath, nobody but she and the Headmaster ever wore the hats. When they were done being fitted and had their robes, Madam Malkin rang up their total in, not pounds, but Galleons and Sickles. Before either Mum or Dad could say a word McGonagall told her to put it on the Hogwarts tab and lead them out.

"The exchange rate between pounds and Galleons is outrageous, even ignoring the rather large fee the goblins charge for exchanging," she said, ignoring Mum's mouthing "goblins" behind her. "We keep an open tab with all of the necessary stores and add an additional fee to the Muggleborns' tuition to simplify things."

They next went to the cauldron store that Harry had seen earlier and purchased two pewter cauldrons, followed by the apothecary where they got a basic starter kit and a lecture on wizard currency (29 bronze knuts to the silver sickle, and 17 sickles to a gold galleon) courtesy of Hermione's asking. After that came the bookstore, where Hermione had to be dragged away from the advanced section by McGonagall after being assured that not only did Hogwarts have the largest library in the world, but that the closest it had to an equal "is in the tower I highly suspect you'll be living in for the next seven years." She insisted on remaining and flipping through some of the texts, though, leaving Harry and Dad to wander a bit near Flourish and Blotts.

It seemed inevitable, in hindsight, that they would end up in Quality Quidditch Supplies, where Harry not only fell in love with the very concept of flying on a broom, but more importantly Quidditch, which turned out to be a sport taking football and rugby, putting it fifty feet in the air at sixty kilometers an hour, and including two cannonballs that flew around trying to kill everyone. Dad seemed almost as enraptured as Harry by the television screen playing looped, slow motion footage of the previous year's World Cup Final, although he looked slightly uncomfortable when told by a clerk that it wasn't a television, but a photograph.

Sadly for Harry, he too had to be pulled away from his new favorite store by McGonagall, who had to pull out a sheet of parchment with the supply list, which explicitly stated that first years weren't allowed brooms. Though Harry pouted at first, he then cottoned on to the line directly above the one about brooms.

"Can I have an owl?"

Much cajoling on the parts of both Harry and Hermione later, not to mention McGonagall's endorsement of owls as fine, self-sustaining pets, they were both walking out of Eeylops Owl Emporium, a beautiful snowy owl hanging in a cage from Hermione's hand that they had been quite firmly told that they were to share. And all that left was their wands, the most important part.

"We'll be going to Ollivander's for wands," McGonagall said. "He's supplied wands for almost every wizard in Britain." She paused. "And remembers them all as well."

The last bit was left fairly cryptic, and she hurried along the Alley, the Grangers trailing behind her.

Ollivander's was an old looking building with peeling letters, a sign proudly declaring that the store had been opened since 382 B.C. and a single wand on a pillow in the display. McGonagall ushered them in quickly, crowding the rather small interior which was piled with boxes upon boxes upon boxes of wands, all neatly shelved and somehow still dilapidated . The storefront was empty, but a small door lead into the back where even more boxes upon boxes upon boxes appeared, going down massive rows of cases.

"Hello." Three shrieks, a startled jump and a "Hello, Garrick" happened all at once. Harry whirled around to find an old man with the creepiest silver eyes in existence staring right at them.

"Minerva, wonderful to see you," he said to McGonagall. "Fir and dragon heartstring, 9 ½ inches, stiff. Amazing Transfiguration wand."

"As you remind me thirty times every summer, Garrick," she sighed. "I've got two new Muggleborn students here for you. Mister and Miss Granger, this is Garrick Ollivander."

"Ah…" Ollivander took notice of Harry and Hermione then, and leaned forward, peering closely at them. "I do enjoy Muggleborns. Wizardborn children tend to be too similar to their parents, too easy. Muggleborns are a challenge. Alright, Miss Granger, step onto the stool here and we'll begin." And begin he did, going off into a speech about wands and a bit of wandlore. He of course found a rapt student in Hermione, who barely paid attention to the measuring tape winding around her body on its own.

It took only ten tries to find Hermione's wand, something Ollivander seemed almost disappointed about. It appeared he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt more than actually finding a match. It didn't matter much to Hermione, though, who clutched her 10 ¾ inch vine and dragon heartstring wand to her body like it was her child. Mum and Dad were just staring at her; she had made sparks come out of the wand. She had done magic. Magic. Harry had already known it was going to happen, being far less skeptical of the matter, while McGonagall had a smug look on her face, though she tried to hide it. And then it was Harry's turn.

"Well, I would normally use this time to fill you in on wandlore," Ollivander said while the magical tape measure took stock of the distance between Harry's eyes. "But you've already heard the full speech. A pity, it's great for distracting students while I try to pick out wands." He threw Harry a sly wink, and Harry grinned. "Fortunately I'm fairly good at stalling anyway, as you'll figure out in about three seconds." And sure enough, three seconds later the measure zipped closed and flew to Ollivander's free hand, the other one holding a wand. Harry grinned again.

He tried the first wand Ollivander handed him. After a single swish the old man yanked it back, as he had done with Hermione. The next one Harry barely touched before it was also pulled from his hand. The next one was largely the same, and the one after that, while it felt okay was also confiscated.

"Oh, I've got a good feeling about you Mister Granger," Ollivander said, a wicked grin on his face as he carried a stack of wand boxes back into his stocks and came out with another. "You're going to be a tricky one."

And indeed, Harry was. They were in the wand store for almost an hour going from there, trying wand after wand, each failure making Ollivander's face go a little wider. Just when Harry thought the wandmaker's face was going to split apart, Ollivander stopped, and the smile melted away.

"… I wonder…" Before anyone could ask what, exactly, Ollivander wondered, he bolted into the back as he had several times already. This time, however, he came back with only one wand, unboxed.

"Holly and phoenix feather, 11 inches. Nice and supple. Give it a try, Mister Granger." Harry took the wand from Ollivander's hand, and suddenly warmth ran through his body like hot chocolate on a winter day. Feeling more sure of himself than he had in the last hundred or so attempts, he gave the wand a flick, and out showered a wave of red and green sparks. Mum and Dad gave a polite amount of applause while Hermione just groaned out a "finally," but Ollivander looked… odd. Not disappointed as he had when Hermione had found her wand, just puzzled, in a way.

"Curious, that is. Most curious," he said.

"What is, sir?" Harry asked.

"Phoenixes are rare creatures, Mister Granger. As such most of the phoenix feathers I have were donated from the same small pool, around twenty or so. But the feather in your wand… that phoenix gave but one other feather. That wand did great things, Mister Granger, great things indeed." Now Harry was curious.

"Who was it?"

"Ah, I will not burden you with his name." Ollivander had a small, sad smile on his face. Harry pouted. "I'll be expecting great things from you, Mister Granger, great things indeed."


	5. A Matter of Muggles

Three people sat on Harry's floor around his bed. Three people he had known for years, and who were quite easily his best friends in the world. Maggy Jones. Eric Marson. And Devon Thornby. The four of them had scarcely been apart since the age of seven-six in Maggy's case, as she was a year younger than the others. And now Harry had to explain that he was leaving them.

"So I'm guessing you got us here because of that woman from a few weeks ago, right?" Eric asked. Harry nodded. Even with Harry's birthday party the week before, he hadn't had a chance to be alone with them since the Professor McGonagall had first visited; Hermione had bound herself to his side, only leaving him alone when he was in his room or the bathroom, and he didn't want anyone knowing what his friends knew. For as clever of troublemakers as Harry and his gang were, they were awful at reliably getting away when it was most necessary,  _especially_  from Hermione. But now, a day after their trip to Diagon Alley, she was holed away in her own bedroom, staring at every page of every book and committing the words to memory as though she were being given the year-end exams the tomorrow.

"We didn't tell anyone." Devon leaned back against the wall, staring directly at Harry. "Not even our parents. We agreed we needed to talk to you first, but Hermione was always around and you never brought it up…"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "So… here's the deal guys. You saw what Professor McGonagall did."

"McGonagall?"

"Professor?"

"Yeah. She's a witch. Like, magical. Real magic."

"We figured that out for ourselves," Devon tossed back wryly. "We're more interested in what she was doing here, and why you just called her a professor.

"She came here with an invitation. For… for me and Hermione." Silence. "We… we have magic too."

"You're joking!" This was Eric.

"Shush!" Harry looked at the wall he shared with Hermione, but it seemed that she was wholly absorbed in her new texts. "I'm not joking. We have magic, and McGonagall was here inviting us to this school." Devon narrowed his eyes.

"Seriously Harry, quit having us on. We agreed after the laughing gas incident that we weren't going to prank each other."

"I'm not…" Harry threw up his hands in exasperation, and reached for his drawer, pulling out his wand. Though he wouldn't be allowed to do it once he had attended classes, nothing was keeping him from casting spells now; he and Hermione had already tried some of the easier ones out of the book. He pointed it at Eric, whose shirt sleeve had a large tear in it, and performed a single flick.

" _Reparo."_  The end of the wand glowed, and the tear repaired itself, threads regenerating to become whole. Eric shrieked and leapt backwards, pulling at his sleeve as though to uncover the trick. The wand dropped to Harry's bed and he sat down on the edge, staring at his friends and awaiting their reactions.

"… wicked," Eric breathed, finally settled down.

"Yeah!" Maggy exclaimed. "You're gonna learn to do more stuff like that?"

"Mhmm," Harry nodded, just a little bit proud and a little bit guilty about being proud. "My books say that that was a really easy one, the more complicated stuff you have to be properly taught."

"So… you're going to this school then?" Devon asked. Harry nodded. "Well, sucks that we won't be in secondary school together but at least we'll be able to hang out afterwards, and you can show us some magic…" He trailed off at Harry's dejected look.

"About that… Hogwarts is a boarding school… in Scotland." All three of them went off at once, and Harry had to grab his wand again. " _Crepitia!"_  A sharp crack came from Harry's wand, silencing them all. Hermione banged on the wall, and Harry froze, but nothing appeared to come of it. "Look, guys, if there was something closer I would go there instead, but there isn't, and… and I can't let this go by."

"… and we can't come with you, can we?" Eric asked after a pause.

"No, Eric." Harry shook his head. "Maggy might, next year, but you and Dev would have gotten your letters and visit in July. You're apparently born with it." A sniffling caught Harry's attention, and he looked at Maggy, who was crying-though whether it was real or fake, Harry couldn't quite tell, as her hair covered her eyes.

"Why tell us?" The even voice confirmed for Harry that it was real. When she was faking it she tended to go for more blubbering. "Why not just, I don't know, have someone erase our memories or something." She looked up, and Harry could see the red in her eyes.

"I thought," he said quietly. "You deserved to know. It's the rules, right? No secrets?"

"Yeah," Devon said. "No secrets." He fell back against the floor, and the rest of them followed suit, Harry dropping from his perch so that they formed a semi-circle around the bed, lying there in silence.

"You'll write us, won't you?" Devon asked. Harry smiled a little.

"Of course. Although if any of your parents ask, my school is too remote to use the post and that's why I have an owl playing carrier pigeon." Eric snorted.

"You've got an owl mate?"

"Yep," Harry said. "Me and Hermione. Her name's Hedwig." All three of them tilted their heads to give him a funny look, and Harry put his hands up. "Mione named her after some witch from our history textbook. Personally I was pushing for Deathwing the Destructor." They all laughed a bit at that, but fell silent again until Maggy finally spoke again.

"When can you come back?" There was a little hiccough in her voice, but Harry knew that now it was only crocodile tears.

"I'll be back for Christmas, and Easter. And every summer, too."

"… good."


	6. Four Gingers and a Troll

King's Cross was a perfectly ordinary train station that once a year became quite unordinary. The guards and conductors noticed this, of course, as it was quite impossible to miss such a pattern. Every year on the first of September, like clockwork, a large proportion of families came through, many with caged owls, most dressed in the strangest clothes you could imagine, and all with heavy, old fashioned trunks.

There were other days that these sorts came through, of course. But all kinds of people came through train stations all the time; bums, foreigners, and blokes in robes with pet birds. The unusual thing about 1 September was the sheer number of them; a few hundred families, all passing through at one point in the day or another. The only time quite nearly so many came through the station was near the beginning of summer, but even then the numbers didn't even compare. And the stranger part was that these families never, even once, boarded a train. Some of the older, more savvy workers at the station kept a careful eye out every year, and every year saw none of these odd people more than once.

This curious oddity, which none of them paid much mind to once it was finished for reasons even they could not fathom, was due in large part to the fact that the Hogwarts Express left from Platform 9 ¾ at 11 AM on that particular day, playing host to nearly every magical child in the British Isles.

Platform 9 ¾, which as any Muggle who's been to the station knows does not exist, could only be accessed by running through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. And it was this fact that had Hermione Granger and her mother nervous beyond recognition as the collected Granger family stared at it uncomfortably, accompanied by one of the tell-tale owls that looked, for her part, indifferent to the whole thing.

"So… Harry… you're certain that Professor McGonagall said to run through it?" Mum asked hopefully, as though the fourth time would yield a different answer.

"Yes, Mum," Harry answered, exasperated. "'Run straight through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, don't stop, and close your eyes if you feel too frightened to do it.' We were all there when she said it." Really, he didn't see what the big deal was. After Diagon Alley you'd have thought his family would have a little bit of faith. Dad, at least, was a little more adventurous about it, if only just.

"Perhaps," he mused. "If you were to just walk up and put a hand through, just to test it."

"Nope," Harry said cheerfully. "Hermione asked McGonagall that, remember? You have to at least be walking really quickly. Otherwise a Muggle could just lean against it and fall through. We're gonna be going blind." They continued to eye it nervously, though, and Harry just rolled his eyes. "Whenever you guys are done being chickens, I'll be checking out the platform. Tally ho!" He cocked a grin and took off running. His mother tried to shout after him, but she was cut off almost immediately as Harry passed through and onto the misty, magical, fantastic Platform where a scarlet five-car steam engine waited. Harry gaped in awe.

"… wicked." He tossed a glance over his shoulder, and could quite clearly see the rest of the station behind him, including his family who…  _oh crap, Mum looks angry._

In every animal there is an instinctive fight or flight response to imminent danger. Faced with his mother when angry, Harry went with flight every time. He vanished into the crowd, blending in with the mass of wizards and witches that surrounded him.

It was a surreal experience, to tune in and out of so many conversations at once. Some boys talking about a Quidditch game they'd seen that summer; older girls here and there swapping cosmetics charms; more than a few couples snogging, all of whom Harry avoided like the plague, still being young enough to be disgusted by such things. Families wishing their children good luck and younger siblings begging to be allowed to go too. And there was one kid with a tarantula, but Harry couldn't stop long enough to investigate more closely.

Harry moved as quickly and deftly as possible, intent on staying away from Mum just long enough for her to cool off. Years of practice navigating his particular brand of chaos in school with his friends made this easy for him, which was why it was surprising when a body came out of nowhere and he collided with it. He stumbled backwards and looked up into the face of a rather snooty looking older boy with dark hair and a face that had to be at least part troll. He sneered down at Harry.

"Watch where you're walking, filth. Or are you too stupid to even do that?"

"I'm sorry, I absolutely didn't mean for you to step into my path. How foolish of me," Harry smirked. It was probably a mistake, but that had never stopped Harry. The boy shot him the evil eye.

"I think," he said slowly. "That you're going to learn a lesson about how to treat your betters, and soon."

"Great," Harry replied cheerfully. "I'll bear that in mind when I actually meet them." And then he vanished into the crowd as though he'd never been there at all.

Harry slipped back out of the mass of students, which was beginning to thin out and cluster as more and more got on the train. Most of the people still on the platform were just wishing family goodbye, private moments that Harry wouldn't have possibly felt comfortable intruding on. He turned to go find his own, estimating that ten minutes was enough time for mum to cool off but not enough for her to start seriously worrying-he'd vanished in crowded places for longer, after all-when, for the second time that day and only the twelfth since he was six, he bumped into someone, knocking her down.

"Oh!" Fortunately, this someone seemed rather nicer than the last one, as she blushed rather than chewed him out. "Sorry about that." Harry chuckled.

"Who apologises to a guy who practically shoves her?" He extended a hand, which she took and used to pull herself up. "I'm sorry. Already been told to watch where I'm going today and here I go bumping into people who are actually nice." She blushed again at that, to the roots of her plaited red hair. "I'm Harry, by the way. I'd offer a hand, but you've already got it."

"Susan," she laughed, her face fading back to its normal complexion. "Nice to meet you. I hate to be in a rush, but the train's leaving soon and I need to go find my parents. I'll look for you on the train though?"

"Sure," Harry grinned. They parted ways, and Harry took pride in the fact that he'd just made a magical friend.

* * *

"Harry James Granger!" Harry winced. Apparently he'd underestimated his mother's temper. "You have quite a bit of nerve, running off and leaving us with no clue of where you were!" Never mind then, that would be an overestimation of her patience. "On a strange train platform that we didn't even know existed until a month ago, with all sorts of strange folk around." Harry blushed, but more from the looks that that last proclamation that Mum had made. She didn't mean anything by it, of course, but the various witches and wizards around didn't know that. Thankfully Dad chose that moment to step in.

"Leave him be, Monica," he said. "He's just excited about going to school. How many boys his age can you say that about?" Mum sighed as his hand came to rest on her shoulder, as though he'd diffused the ticking time bomb inside of her.

"I suppose you're right, dear."

"Jolly," Dad said, beaming. "Come on then kids, let's go find you a compartment and get your luggage in." He pushed the trolley forward and Hermione followed. Harry moved to do the same, but Mum put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He cringed. Clearly he wasn't as off the hook as he thought.

"Harry," she said, softly. She turned him around to face her and put her free hand on his other shoulder, and kneeled down. There was a strange look in her eyes that he couldn't quite place. "You've got some long years ahead of you, and… and I'm sad that I can't be there for most of it. But I want you to know that I'm proud of you, and everything you're going to do." She smiled a watery smile, and it looked almost like she was trying not to cry. Harry laid a hand on her arm.

"Mum… not that I don't appreciate the quiet moment together, but shouldn't you be saying this to Hermione too?"

"I spoke to your sister before we left." She blinked the tears back before speaking again. "Listen, I know it's useless to try and tell you to stay out of trouble;" they both smiled at that. "So I'll just say… do good, alright?" Harry paused.

"Don't you mean do well?" It felt weird to be correcting his mother's grammar, when she had always been a bit of a grammar nazi. But she shook her head.

"No, Harry, that's not what I mean at all." She slowly leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his, something she'd always done to comfort him and Hermione when they were younger. He had no illusions about who it was meant to be comforting now. After a long moment, she moved backwards, and ruffled his hair. "Alright son, time to get on the train." Harry nodded, pondering the sudden appearance of water in his eyes that coincided with the realization that yes, he was leaving home for several months finally, truly hit him.

"Okay Mum. I'll see you at Christmas?"

"See you at Christmas." She ran her hand through his hair one more time, prompting him to cover it up protectively. They shared a grin, and then he left, feeling the slightest pang in his heart that hadn't been there before.

It didn't take Harry long to find Dad and Hermione, who were currently fighting to get her trunk onto the racks above a compartment in the last car. He chuckled, and then grabbed his own, intent on showing them what a real man could do, particularly when he didn't pack half a bookstore.

Harry had forgotten, of course, that he was not in fact a real man, but a smaller-than-average boy. Years of football had given him some leg strength, but he was still struggling with the trunk, especially since his father and sister already being in the compartment forced him to do it from the door. He noted with some satisfaction that he was still doing just as good as Dad and Hermione, although that was more a testament to his lighter packing and lack of book obsession. Just as he was considering setting it down and helping them first, yet another hand hit his shoulder.

"Need a hand there, mate?" Harry looked up to find an teenaged redhead giving him a toothy grin. Harry shrugged.

"Sure, if you don't mind helping my dad and sister too."

"Yeah, no problem. Oi, Fred, Ron, get over here!" In a flash two other redheads were there, one identical to the first and the other about Harry's age. "Help me with this kid's trunk, yeah?"

"Now why would we do that, Fred?" Harry blinked. Harry could have sworn one of the ones that had been called over was supposed to be Fred.

"Because, Fred," said Fred. "We need to earn the trust of the ickle firsties, or else how are they going to know who turn to when they need something?"

"Ah, too true, Fred, too true," Fred nodded solemnly. Harry looked at the third one, who Harry assumed was Ron.

"Er… why are they both Fred?"

"They're not," Ron snorted. "The one you met first is George. They think being identical is hilarious." Fred and George both gave Ron looks of betrayal.

"How could you betray our trust so, dearest little brother" George asked, scandalized.

"We confided who was who before in confidence!" Fred continued.

"Yeah, and I'm still not sure if that's right," Ron shot back. "There are times I doubt you even know which one's which."

"Ah, too true, too true," Fred said wistfully. "It would be nice to know for certain, I think. Anyway, weren't we shoving a trunk?"

And so they did, a little awkwardly at first due to the door, but eventually they all found the right spots and managed to push it up. The twins then grabbed another trunk that Ron had been dragging behind him and swung it up as well, ignore his protestation.

"We found you a nice compartment and a little friend just like Mummy asked us, ickle Ronniekins," George said cheerfully.

"So don't go complaining. Now, you two gents can help them out," Fred nodded at Dad and Hermione, who against all odds were  _still_  having issues with the trunk. "Can't you?" Harry shrugged.

"We wouldn't all fit anyway."

"Then we'd best be off," the twins smirked in unison. "Best of luck, you both." And then they were off. Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged.

"It's probably safer that they aren't actually going in, anyway." And before Harry could ask him what he meant, Ron was slipping into the compartment around Dad, getting under Hermione's trunk to provide leverage that way. Harry shrugged and joined in, but even with their combined efforts it was still a bit of a struggle. Finally, though, they managed to get it up together.

"Merlin, girl," Ron panted. "What the bloody hell did you put in there, rocks?" Hermione frowned at Ron's language.

"Books, actually."

"Our brilliant father here," Harry clapped Dad on the back. "was talked into getting Mione a trunk that was twice as big on the inside, but wouldn't spring for the charm that makes it really light." Ron laughed.

"But those are for clothes!"

"That's what I figured," Dad chuckled. "But I didn't think she would actually completely fill it until she knew how to levitate it or something like that." Ron paled, and then his ears turned the strangest shade of red.

"That's a first year charm. I'm going to kill Fred and George, they could have done this easily." He plopped himself down and started muttering angrily to himself, not noticing when Harry, Hermione and their father stepped out of the compartment.

"Your mother already say her goodbyes?" He asked. They both nodded. "Alright then. Have a wonderful school year, both of you. And Harry," he leveled a glance at his son, who cocked his head cheekily. "Make it at least a month before I get a letter from school?"

"Eh... two weeks."

"Three."

"Deal." Dad chuckled and threw his arms around the both of them, squeezing them tightly. When he let go Hermione mock pouted.

"What, no last minute words for me?"

"I hardly have to worry about you. If you get into trouble it'll be Harry's fault in the first place."

"Hey-" Harry started indignantly, but then stopped. "Nah, you're probably right." Dad smiled.

"Good luck, both of you. I know you'll do me proud." He gave one last smile and went down the nearby steps off the train, leaving his children for their great adventure. If anyone had been watching his face closely, they might have seen the lone tear that escaped him.


	7. The Hogwarts Express

Ron stared at the Grangers a bit awkwardly when they returned to the compartment, making Harry somewhat uncomfortable. He sat down next to the window and watched as the train started pulled out of the station, inexplicably exiting not into the city, but the rolling countryside. Hermione was, predictably, reading, but when Harry glanced over she was clearly having trouble concentrating, as disconcerted by Ron as he was. Before he could say anything, though, Ron decided to finally break the silence.

"So…" He was not off to a good start. Hermione snapped her book shut and wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

"Is there something we can help you with?"

"Er," Ron stammered, rubbing the back of his head. "I was just wondering… you guys are Muggleborns, right?"

"Yes…" Harry replied slowly, uncertain of where this was going. McGonagall had mentioned there was some prejudice against the children of Muggles in the wizarding world, although not as much as there was just a few years earlier.

"Well I was kind of wondering… d'you know how the fellytone works?" Ron sputtered out. Hermione stared.

"The… fellytone?"

"Yeah," Ron replied a bit excitedly. "I found one in my dad's old shed, and I've been trying for ages to figure it out. How does it talk to someone all the way across the country without using a fireplace?" Neither sibling had any answer to that, in part because they weren't familiar with the technology behind telephones-Harry guessed that was what he was talking about-and part because they were stuck on the word "fireplace."

"Er… sorry mate, no idea," Harry said. Ron looked a little downtrodden at that. "Er… so your family is all wizards, then?" Ron shrugged.

"I s'pose. I think my mum's second cousin or something is an accountant, but we don't talk about him much. What're your names by the way, I didn't really catch them before." Hermione stared at him appraisingly for a moment.

"Hermione Granger," she finally answered, before returning to her book. Harry rolled his eyes. It was a small wonder she didn't have friends back home other than him.

"I'm Harry," he said a bit more chipperly.

"I'm Ron Weasley." Harry didn't mention that he already knew Ron's first name. "So, er, Harry," Ron started, clearly intimidated by Hermione. "What exactly is a rubber duck for?"

Historians would never know the contents of this conversation. The only thing history books would know happened was that they met on the train to Hogwarts. No one would ever, in a million years, even dare to dream that the legendary friendship of Ron Weasley and Harry Granger began with a discussion on the rubber duck.

* * *

Harry was just instructing Ron on how to make a paper plane without magic (a difficult thing using parchment, but they managed) when the compartment door slid open to reveal a welcome face: Susan from the platform.

"Harry!" She smiled at him. "There you are, I've been looking for you."

"I wasn't exactly hiding," he grinned back. Susan waved someone forward from down the corridor.

"Neville, c'mon, I found us a place to sit." And without further ado she slid into place next to Harry, followed shortly by a round faced boy who was almost as small as Harry. "Harry, this is Neville," Susan said. "His grandmother and my aunt are friends. He's kind of the only person I know here."

"S'no problem. That's Ron Weasley there," Harry nodded to Ron, who gave a little wave. "And this is my sister Hermione." Hermione gave a small grunt of recognition, never taking her eyes from her book. Neville didn't say anything at all either,

The conversation carried on as it had before, with the exception that Susan talked as well. Apparently, Harry was delighted to learn, both of his new friends were extremely well versed in professional Quidditch, although it got a little awkward when it came out that Ron's team, the Chudley Cannons, were the hated rivals of Susan's, the Falmouth Falcons. Much as he'd have loved to keep going on about the greatest sport in the history of the world (in Harry's professional opinion, in any case), years of putting up with his Muggle friends doing battle over football teams had given him an instinct for avoidance, so he quickly jumped on the first subject he could think of.

"So what do you guys' parents do?" He blurted out. Ron and Susan broke off of their pitched glaring contest to stare at him instead. "Er, I mean, I was kind of curious what wizards do after they finish school." Susan shrugged.

"My dad's in the Goblin Liason Office at the Ministry and my mother's a housewitch. Nothing special."

"Yeah," Ron said, his hostility gone as quickly as it had come. "My mum just owns a restaurant. Not that different from Muggles, except she cooks with magic. My brothers, Bill and Charlie, though, they've got cool jobs." Harry twirled his hand in the universal "go on" motion, and he blushed slightly. "Er, Bill's a curse breaker, he goes into tombs with a bunch of other wizards and collects artifacts, and Charlie's in Romania working with dragons." Harry stared. "… what?"

"You're telling me that one of your brothers is a magical Indiana Jones, and the other is a dragon tamer."

"Well, er, no idea what an Indiana Jones is, but yeah, I guess."

"I wish I had brothers as cool as yours. All I've got is Hermione, and she's the opposite of cool." Harry grinned as he nudged her with his foot. She didn't look up, but she was clearly fighting her own smile off as she gave an automatic "prat." Ron just snorted.

"Yeah, no you don't, believe me. Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was the Quidditch Captain, Percy's not only managing to graduate two years early but is the only Slytherin Weasley ever, Fred and George are the Prank Kings of Hogwarts, and my little sister Ginny is the only girl in the family. You try standing out in that crowd of success." Despite the bitterness his words could imply he didn't seem too broken up about it. When Harry mentioned it he chuckled. "Well, I'm the only one who ever helps make dinner at home, so even if they're all amazing at what they do I'm still Mum's favorite." This sent a wave of laughter around the compartment, even from Hermione, who was still reading her book.

"So your mum has a restaurant," Harry said when they finally calmed down. "What about your dad? What does he do?" Ron shrugged.

"He's dead. Don't," he said warningly when Susan opened her mouth. "Don't do the "I'm so sorry" thing, you have no idea how old it gets. It was ages ago anyway, in the war."

"I kind of understand," Susan started. "My uncle-"

"Hold up, hold up," Harry interrupted. "You lost me at 'war.' When the hell was there a war?" Hermione snorted.

"Honestly Harry, if you just  _read_  the history textbook, you'd know," she said, her first actual contribution to the conversation. "About twenty years ago a nasty Dark wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort got a following of other nasty Dark wizards and tried to take over the country."

"It was a bad time," Susan supplied. "Everybody was terrified, most people couldn't even say Voldemort's name they were so afraid of him. He left death and chaos everywhere he went."

"Then on Halloween about ten years ago, he was defeated by an infant," Hermione continued. "Harry Potter. Or, to be more precise, his mother. Apparently for some reason Voldemort offered to spare her if she gave her son up, and she refused, so he killed her, and for some reason that gave him protection from him. No one's certain of why. Anyway Voldemort tried to kill baby Harry Potter, the curse he used rebounded, and he up and exploded."

"That should have been the end of it," Ron picked up. Apparently this was a big, well known story in the Wizarding world, Harry thought. "The Death Eaters lost their leader and they were always a bunch of cowards. But then Harry vanished. Dumbledore-that's the Headmaster-he left Harry with Muggle relatives. I don't understand the specifics, exactly, but apparently they never actually got him. So Dumbledore went looking, and eventually found his dead body. He became a martyr for the Light, everyone became outraged, and that sort of kept the war going. No one could get away with saying they were under mind control like most of them wanted to."

"My parents fought in it back then." Everyone jumped slightly-they'd completely forgotten that Neville was there too, until he'd spoken in a quiet voice. "Everyone tells me stories about it, though they never do. Don't want to hurt my innocence, they say. Not many people on our side died after that, Death Eaters on the run after all. But some did…"

"My dad was part of the raid against Lucius Malfoy that ended it all," Ron said quietly. "That's the guy who took over when the Death Eaters had to rally back together. Malfoy himself cast the curse that did it … he died like a hero." No one could really say anything to that. "I don't remember him much, I was only four or five." No one really had anything to say to that. They sat together in silence, a remarkably comfortable one considering what they'd just discussed. Harry busied himself by thinking of how cool it was that he shared a name with the closest he'd heard of to a wizarding messiah, and then vaguely wondering if Jesus might have been a wizard as well.

A knock on the door shook them out of their reverie, and it slid open to reveal a woman pushing a trolley full of sweets.

"Anything from the cart, dears?" Any sense of melancholy vanished to three identical grins and a timid smile from Neville.

* * *

Fortunately for Harry, while the trolley woman hadn't been willing to accept his Muggle money Ron eagerly did. Harry felt slightly guilty since a five pound note for a hubcap-sized coin of solid gold seemed a bit unfair, but when his first Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean turned out to be treacle tart he quickly discarded that guilt for pleasure. The mood in the compartment had lightened considerably, with Harry and Susan gambling on Bean flavors, Ron drinking the caramel from his Chocolate Cauldron like punch, and Neville trying very desperately to catch the Chocolate Frog that had jumped from his hand and was now skipping around him mockingly. Even Hermione, who normally adhered to their parents rule against candy as snacks, was nibbling on a Sugarless Sugar Quill and using it to take notes in the margins.

"I'm not touching it," Susan was saying. The last Bertie Bott's Bean sat between her and Harry, a funny grayish coloured one that had been daring them to try since the box had been opened. Harry pushed it toward her with one finger.

"I ate the last one, it's your turn."

"What, are you chicken Granger?" She smirked at him, pushing the bean back his direction.

"No," Harry smirked back. "I'm just saying in the interest of fairness, it's your turn."

"Alright then, I pass."

"I pass too."

"… well played. Now eat it." Before they could carry on, though, a hand shot out and grabbed it.

"For the record," Hermione said. "I'm only doing this so you two will shut up." She popped the in her mouth and chewed. And then promptly spit it out. Susan and the boys burst out laughing.

"Nice one, Hermione," Ron chuckled. She flushed.

"Well you try having a mouthful of pepper and see how well you react." She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and glanced out the window at the steadily darkening sky. "We'll probably get there soon, I think. Boys, out." Ron and Harry stared at her questioningly.

"We need to change into our uniforms," Susan supplied helpfully. Harry blushed and nodded, while Ron just kept on staring. Neville shook his head and put a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"I'll explain it to you later," he said.

* * *

"What are you reading, anyway?" Ron asked Hermione after they'd all finished changing. "You've barely stopped since the train left, and I know you were farther along than you are now before." Hermione sighed.

"It's called  _Hogwarts: A History._ " She said before returning to it.

"Again, Mione?" Harry asked, incredulous. "You've read it cover to cover five times already, surely you have it memorized."

"It's very interesting," Hermione said defensively. "All the stuff about the Founders and the changes made since the school was built. Did you know that there are more than five thousand rooms in the castle, but only one hundred and twenty are still used?"

"Seems like rather a lot," Susan commented. Hermione shrugged.

"Magical Britain used to be a lot larger. Condemning witches in the name of religion wasn't that popular until around the twelfth century." Hermione flipped a couple of pages. "But that's not what I'm re-reading it again for. I'm trying to figure out which House I want to be in, so I'm trying to find everything I can on them. According to the index there's over three hundred pages that talk about them."

"How-" Harry was about to ask how there could be so many in such a tiny book, but stopped himself. "Right, magic."

"You're wasting your time Hermione," Ron said dismissively. "Doesn't matter how much you read about them, you don't get to choose your House."

"What?" Hermione stared at him. "But the book didn't say anything about that! How do we get placed then?" Ron shrugged.

"Fred said we have to fight a troll. It was Fred, though, so I'm pretty sure he was having me on."

"It's supposed to stay a secret," Susan said. "At least that's what my Auntie told me. We get Sorted at the feast, the first night, but it's this big tradition that you don't get to know how until it happens." She sighed. "My parents were in Hufflepuff, and everyone says it runs in families, but I'm not that sure that's where I want to be."

"That's my family and Gryffindor," Neville said with a wistful look.

"I kind of like the sound of Gryffindor," Harry said. "That or Slytherin. Lord knows I'm cunning enough." Ron snorted.

"You wish Harry. Muggleborns never get into Slytherin. Salazar never wanted them at Hogwarts altogether. Besides, they've got a reputation for turning out Dark wizards."

"Didn't you say your brother was in Slytherin?"

"Yeah, and he's twice as much of a prat as he was before." Ron was smirking, so Harry figured it was best not to take him seriously. "Nah, Gryffindor's the place to be. That or maybe Ravenclaw."

"Ron, I've spent all of seven hours with you and I know you're no Ravenclaw," Susan grinned. "And what's so wrong with Hufflepuff anyway?" Ron shrugged.

"No one much respects Hufflepuffs. When your founder's line is "I'll take whoever the others don't want" you're off to a pretty bad start. Besides, you just said you weren't sure about it." Susan blushed.

"That's just because my Auntie's a Gryffindor and I really look up to her."

"So hope for Gryffindor," Harry said. "S'not like anyone will think any less of you. And… they sort by personality, yeah? I mean from what very little I've read that's what the Houses are based on." Susan nodded. "So if you turn out to be more brave than hardworking, or whatever Hufflepuff is, that's just the way you are, right?" Susan gave him a funny look, and then smiled.

"I suppose you're right at that." They steadily drifted back into other topics, but Harry couldn't help noticing that Neville, like Susan, suddenly seemed just a bit happier.


	8. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"A hat," Ron muttered flatly. "All that ribbing from Fred and George I put up with, all that worrying we did, and we just have to put on a hat." And indeed, they did. After fretting on the boats that Hagrid the friendly giant brought them across the lake on, and then in the antechamber that McGonagall had dumped them in, the first years had been brought out to the Great Hall, in front of every student in the school, and a hat had sung that they were to put it on and it would Sort them. How  _any_  of that last part made sense, Harry didn't know, but he was quickly learning to put aside logic where magic was concerned. McGonagall rolled open a scroll of parchment and informed them that they were to come up and try on the hat when called.

"Abbot, Hannah." And so it began. Hannah, a short blond girl in pigtails, walked up to the stool, her face pink, and sat down. McGonagall dropped the hat on her head, and then they sat. After a minute had passed, the hat decreed that she was a "HUFFLEPUFF!", sending waves of applause along the second table from the left and polite clapping through the other three. Hufflepuffs, Harry decided as he watched Hannah join her new table, were a delightfully friendly bunch, welcoming her with open arms and warm smiles.

"Bones, Susan." The girl in question grabbed Harry's hand quite suddenly and gave it a hard squeeze before walking up. He glanced at Ron, who had been on her other side, and saw that he, too, had been squeezed, and was now holding his hand and wincing. Susan took her place on the stool and took one last look in their direction. He gave as encouraging a smile as he could, before the hat dropped onto her head and over her eyes.

* * *

" _ **Ah, a Bones. How delightful, I haven't had one of you in a number of decades."**_

"Er… yeah, I guess," Susan muttered under her breath. "My parents did wait a while before having me. You should have had my cousins, but…"

" _ **I had heard about that. A dreadful thing, that war was. It claimed so many I never got to Sort. But alas, we cannot dwell on the might-have-beens, now can we? Now, if I'm remembering correctly, Bones's are traditionally Hufflepuff, yes? I remember sorting your father and uncle. Your mother as well. Only Parkinson I ever sent to Hufflepuff you know."**_  It was true, Susan thought. Everyone in her family for many generations back had been Hufflepuffs, and they fully expected her to be as well.  _ **"Quite right"**_ _,_  whispered the voice in her ear. She jumped.  _ **"Don't be so surprised, Ms. Bones; I am a mind reading hat after all. I would be quite terrible at my job if I didn't know everything you were thinking. But enough about that.**_

" _ **You would be an excellent Hufflepuff, I can tell. But that isn't quite what you want though, is it?**_ _"_  Not quite. She could hardly say she'd be miserable in Hufflepuff. In fact she'd probably enjoy it. Puffs were legendary for their loyalty, after all, especially to each other. But…  _ **"But, you do not wish to be like your parents. Don't fret my dear, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I've encountered it often enough before. No, you wish to emulate your Aunt Amelia. I don't suppose this was Amelia Prewett, by any chance?"**_   _Yeah, that's her._   _ **"I do remember her… I wouldn't worry much, dear. You take quite a bit after her. You'd be quite the Gryffindor as well... tell me, are you quite certain of where you wish to go?"**_

Susan paused. The Hat was leaving it up to her, that much was clear. A part of her had always hoped for Gryffindor, though she wouldn't have been at all upset if the hat took one look and sent her to the House of Badgers. Now, though, when it was very clearly an option, she found herself hesitating. Everyone was expecting her to be in Hufflepuff, including Auntie. Her parents would be disappointed if she weren't. Not to the point of, say, disowning her, of course, but those expectations, she knew, always forgot that there was rarely a choice in the matter. They would be hurt if they thought she'd rather not be in their House.

" _ **You**_ **would** _ **rather not be in their House."**_  the Hat pointed out wrly.

Fair enough, but they didn't need to know that. And it wasn't like she didn't like Hufflepuff, anyway. Perhaps it was better to just go where she was expected…

" _So hope for Gryffindor," Harry said. "S'not like anyone will think any less of you." "So if you turn out to be more brave than hardworking, or whatever Hufflepuff is, that's just the way you are, right?"_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

Harry applauded alongside the members of Gryffindor, who gave off less of the "welcome to the club" vibe that the Hufflepuffs did and more of a "welcome to the party" one. The sorting continued with "Boot, Terry," who went to Ravenclaw, as Susan took a seat and gave their little group a warm smile. Harry returned it with a little wave before looking around at the rest of the first years, taking a mild interest in each of their Sortings and moreso in their faces going up. Every single one of them ranged from nervous to terrified, though Harry couldn't say why. He knew that House played a large role in Wizarding society. It influenced interactions throughout the Hogwarts years, how others viewed you beyond that, and if Susan and Neville were anything to go by, there could be quite a bit of pressure from one's family. He had no doubt that if Ron's brother Percy weren't a Slytherin already, he would probably be wringing his hands over Gryffindor in the same way. But a person could hardly say, going in, where they know they'd be happiest.

"Granger, Harry."

Oh. That was his cue. He shrugged and walked up rather nonchalantly, and threw a vague grin at the student body before they vanished past the wide brim of an oversized hat.

Nothing happened.

_… hello?_

" _ **Hm? Oh, sorry my boy, I was just puzzling over your brain."** I beg your pardon?_  _ **"It's the strangest thing, really, I can see most of it as normal, but there's an entire section that's been cordoned off and blocked. I'm quite the curious individual you know, so I'm just trying to work around it. While I work though, might as well get you Sorted."** Um… alright then._

" _ **Hm, but if you aren't the difficult one. Your clever, certainly, but you'd not last five minutes in Ravenclaw. Loyal to a fault, but lazier than a summer afternoon. Hm… oh, but you are a brave one. Anyone who would execute the Great Clock Caper under Mrs. Monroe's watchful eye would have to be."**_

_Thank you. I aim to amuse._

_**That you do. Yes, I know just the place for you. And perfect timing, as I've just found a back door. Now, let's see what's been hidden in your head."** What is it? **"Oh... oh**_ **dear."**   _What?_ _ **"I had thought it was the result of some of trauma, but this is so much more. _ **Oh, my dear boy, the secrets hidden in this mind.**_.." ** Er… what secrets? **"I cannot tell you."** What? Come on, that is so not fair!_  _ **"Oh, heavens no. You really shouldn't know. In fact,**_ **I** _ **really shouldn't know. This is a dangerous secret, my boy."** That may be so, but it's in _my  _head!_

" _ **No, and I'll hear nothing more of it.**_ GRYFFINDOR!"

 _Damn_ , Harry thought as the hat vanished from his eyes. He stood and made a beeline for the seat next to Susan, his face pensive. She gave him a concerned look.

"What's wrong," she asked. Harry shook his head.

"Nothing, just something that Hat said. Don't worry about it." And then he focused solely on Hermione, who was sitting through her own Sorting. Susan wisely chose not to push it.

* * *

" _ **Hello there."**_

_… Hat?_

" _ **My but do you catch on quick."**_

_You're making fun of me, aren't you?_

" _ **Quite. Now let's take a look. Hm… oh."**_   _What?_   _ **"Oh, Salazar, the regrets you must have."** Salazar? Like Salazar Slytherin, the Founder?_  _ **"Oh yes, my dear. I can see quite clearly, you are exceptionally intelligent and remarkably studious, but yours is not the soul of a Ravenclaw. You do not study for the sake of knowledge, but because, if I have the adage correct, knowledge is power."**_

This was absolutely true. While learning was fascinating, everything Hermione studied she studied so that she could use it. She'd committed her textbooks to memory to do well in classes. She'd read Hogwarts: A History so much in the hopes of impressing her fellow students. She'd studied that beginner's medical book of her father's when she was nine so that if a fellow student went into cardiac arrest she'd know what to do. Every single thing she focused on learning she did for a purpose.

" _ **In other words, Ms. Granger, you wish for knowledge for an advantage. This is a textbook Slytherin attitude. You wish to prove yourself to others, both magical and Muggle. Also textbook Slytherin. You'd likely step on anyone who dared to get in your way. Textbook Slytherin."**_ _No I wouldn't!_   _ **"Magical psychic hat, dear. And in any case, ambition is not a bad thing. But, alas, when Salazar created me he put it in my enchantments not to allow any Muggleborn into Slytherin. A shame if you ask me; the things you could accomplish with the connections Slytherin would give you and the environment it would create would be simply amazing. He must be rolling in his grave for losing a mind like yours to such shortsightedness."**_

_So where does that leave me? Gryffindor?_

" _ **I can see that**_ **was** _ **your first choice, wasn't it? But now are you so sure of that?"**_   _What do you mean? Of course I am, especially now that Harry's there._   _ **"Especially?"**_   _Yes!_   _ **"Come now my dear, I see everything you feel. You'll find it quite impossible to lie to me."**_   _Well…_

If she were being totally honest with herself-and of course the blasted hat was making her do so-Harry being in Gryffindor made it seem…

" _ **Go on."**_   _Shut up and let me have my introspective monologue, hat._   _ **"Impressive vocabulary. The floor is yours."**_

It wasn't that she didn't love Harry. Of course she did, he was her only brother. Must as his antics and shenanigans sometimes exasperated her, she wouldn't trade him away for anything. But she had never been quite the warmest of people, or the most approachable. She was self-aware enough to know that she was too bossy for her own good, and too overbearing. It was no secret that she didn't really have friends. Study partners, yes, who took advantage of her large brain and one-track studying habits to pass exams and ace essays, but never anyone who liked her for, well, her. Harry had only ever made it worse, though not intentionally of course. He was the friendly, happy-go-lucky one, the one that people wanted to be friends with, and much as Hermione loved him he could be so ruddy oblivious to other people's feelings that he'd never even noticed unless someone was directly picking on her. Of course then he'd go into a brotherly rampage of chaos, but if it didn't reach that point he was none the wiser to how she felt.

The ultimate result of this, of course, was that Hermione had always had the slightest twinge of bitterness towards her brother, and perhaps, she now thought, being away from him, in a different house, one that appreciated an intellectual, would be a good thing for both her social skills and her self-esteem.

" _ **I think you're rather right about that, Ms. Granger.**_ RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

"Longbottom, Neville."

" _ **Hello Mr. Longbottom. Nervous?"**_   _Um… shouldn't you know that already?_   _ **"Quite right. And you aren't. I was rather surprised, given how your father was, but really taking a hard look you take far more after your mother. So, you're certain of what you want?"**_   _Er, yes, Mr. Hat sir._   _ **"Good. Your new friends were far more difficult than you, you know. I'm quite grateful to Mr. Granger, actually, his words earlier made you much easier than you would have been.**_  HUFFLEPUFF!"

* * *

Ron Weasley was sweating. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat. His fingers twitched of their own accord. In short, he was incredibly, incredibly nervous, and only getting worse with time. Silently he cursed his last name for being so far down in the alphabet. Why couldn't his family have been the Beasleys? Or at least the Keasleys. No, it had to be Weasley. And McGonagall was only just now getting to the M's. Bugger.

"Macdougal, Morag."

"RAVENCLAW!

"Macmillan, Ernie."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Malfoy, Draco."

The hall fell silent. You could have dropped a pin outside the doors and it would have been heard. It was well known that Lucius Malfoy had a son around Ron's age, but no one expected him to show his face around Hogwarts. In fact Narcissa and Draco Malfoy hadn't been seen in Britain since her acquittal after the war. Rumor had it they'd been living in France, and that Draco would likely attend Beauxbatons or, more likely, Durmstrang.

Ron leveled a glare. Draco Malfoy's father had killed his own, and was currently serving a sentence of twenty years in Azkaban for all his many crimes, to be ended with a Dementor's Kiss. A long and horrific sentence that could only beg the sweet release of death that would never come, and good riddance. Had it not been for association by guilt Ron might have actually felt sorry for Draco, who, like him, had grown up without a father. Logic said that Draco Malfoy had nothing to do with Arthur Weasley's death, that he deserved sympathy, even pity for the reputation he would have even coming to Hogwarts. Logic, however, was not Ron's strong point.

There was a peculiar look on McGonagall's face as she held the hat above Malfoy's head, as though she were evaluating him. She lowered it down to his head, and on contact it shouted out.

"SLYTHER- wait." Almost at once a wave of surprised muttering washed through the students. Never, in the history of Hogwarts, had the Sorting Hat changed its mind in mid-declaration. Most believed the Hat never changed its mind at all, and that the discussions it had with some of the people who put it on were to lead them to the same conclusion it had already made. That it would do so now was simply impossible. "RAVENCLAW!" The hat decided after few minutes more. The look on Draco Malfoy's face as the hat came off was one of profound relief. He went straight to the Ravenclaw table, where he was met with nothing even remotely resembling a welcome, and took a seat entirely too close to Hermione for Ron's liking.

All nervousness was forgotten, as well as the roll call. Ron's attention was now locked on to Malfoy. Not any particular thoughts, rather, but just a general deluge of negative emotion. And so it came as entirely a surprise when his name in reverse ("Weasley, Ron.") was shouted out, shaking him from his reverie. Malfoy had barely moved since sitting down and said nothing to anyone, so Ron deemed that it was safe to take his eyes off of him for at least a few minutes. Then he looked back at the hat and all the nervous tension he'd forgotten about came back in full force. He gulped and walked forward. Sat down. Squeezed his eyes shut.

' _Here goes nothing.'_

"GRYFFINDOR!" Ron's eyes popped back open and he looked up. The hat had barely brushed his hair.

Well, that wasn't so bad.

* * *

Harry applauded with the rest of his housemates as came over and joined him and Susan, a wicked grin on his face. The Weasley Twins, in celebration of their brother joining them, were standing on the table doing some kind of line dance, although they got down fairly quickly with identical cheeky smirks when McGonagall shot them a Look of Death that seemed all too well practised. After Blaise Zabini, the last first year standing there, was sent to "SLYTHERIN!" and the far right table's cheers died down, Professor Dumbledore, the wizened old Headmaster who could pass for Gandalf with no problems at all, stood, smiling.

"Welcome! Welcome all of you to Hogwarts, and to our older students, welcome back! I realize that you all must be hungry after a long day of eating sweets on the train," he paused as a few people chuckled. "But first, I have just a few words I must say. Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak! Now tuck in!"

Harry's first thought was that the Headmaster was just a little bit mad. His second was that Hogwarts was bloody amazing, as the food for the feast literally materialised onto the table.

The Hogwarts Welcoming Feast, held at the beginning of every year, was two hours long, and consisted of almost every food the kitchen House Elves could think of. Roast chicken and fried turkey, sliced ham and porkchops, duck and pheasant and quail and rhea. All 18 unique cuts of steak arranged artfully on platters. Beef stew, chicken soup, white chowder, bouillabaisse and borscht sat in serving bowls up and down each table, their ladles rising of their own accord to fill students' bowls. Gnocchi and lasagna shared the table with sushi and yakisoba, though nowhere near each other as the elves who made Italian and those that made Japanese shared a fierce rivalry. Fried fish and chips straight from your favorite stand sat next to gourmet caviar. And, for some strange reason, there was a bowl of mint humbugs at the middle of every table.

Within the first hour, Harry and Ron had sampled a bit of everything they could reach. That is, "a bit" meaning a plateful. It was a comical sight to watch, nearly causing Susan to choke on her potatoes at one point from laughing. From then on nobody looked in their direction while chewing. Finally, with half an hour left in the feast, they cleaned their plates for the fourteenth time, turned their forks over, and sighed in unison. Ron patted his distended belly with a blissful look on his face.

"I don't think I could eat another bite," he said. And then dessert appeared.


	9. A Stopper On Death

When at last the plates had cleared, much to the relief Harry, Ron, and many of the other students who were just now feeling the impact of their overeating, Dumbledore stood again. As one the students hushed; the man had a unique ability to draw the attention of everyone around him without making a sound. He cast a sweeping gaze over the four tables before speaking.

"Now that we've all eaten our fill-or more than, as the case may be," he chuckled. It seemed almost like he was looking at Harry and Ron, and they grinned at each other sheepishly. "I have just a few start-of-term announcements before we can all go and sleep this feast off. First, as always, I must remind you that students are not allowed in the Forbidden Forest without supervisions. I do not quite understand why I must do this, as it is in the name, but there you go. I must also remind that dueling in the corridors is expressly forbidden. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, would like me to inform you all that twenty-seven new items have been added to his List of Contraband, bringing the total to 547. Anyone wishing to see the full list may inquire at his office." Harry made a note to do just that. It sounded like a good place to research potential pranks.

"On to less stern matters. First and foremost, I would like to inform you that the Charms classroom has been moved for this year. The portraits will be happy to direct you to wherever the new room we've chosen ends up on that day. Now, please give a warm welcome back to our Muggle Studies professor, Quirinus Quirrel, who has just returned from his year-long sabbatical travelling the world." A rather meek looking man in a purple turban near one end of the staff table stood to a polite smattering of applause, and quickly sat down again. "Next, please welcome our, ahem, "new" professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sirius Black." The response to this professor was far more excited than Quirrel's had been, with the hall erupting into a combination of cheering and laughter. Professor Black, a lean man with silky black hair, grinned and waved.

"Fred, George and Charlie all told me about him," Ron shouted over the cacophony. "He's apparently really good. Everyone loves him."

"You think?" Susan shouted back. When the uproar died down, Dumbledore chuckled.

"It is truly wonderful to see such enthusiasm for Professor Black's continued employment. Now, I would very much love to lead us all in a rendition of the school song…" he trailed off and turned what appeared almost to be a pleading look at McGonagall, whose lips went thin. "But alas, the hour grows late. First years, please follow your prefects to your respective Common Rooms. Sweet dreams, children."

* * *

Magic, Harry quickly learned, did not consist mainly of swishing a wand and saying a few words. In fact, his first few teachers seemed quite intent on preventing any magic from being done at all. Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, informed them right off the bat that wands would see virtually no use in her greenhouses, due to the reactive nature of plants to magic. Everything was to be done with pure elbow grease. Professor Sinistra had a similar stance. While she did say that they would eventually learn charms to automatically target their telescopes, first year was spent learning where things were and thus would not involve any magic.

Charms class was taught by the diminutive Professor Flitwick on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and on the way to their first class Harry, Ron and Susan quickly learned what Dumbledore had meant about asking the portraits for directions. Unlike the Greenhouses, which were on the grounds, and the Towers, which were on the edge of the castle, every room, hallway and staircase within had a tendency to not be where you left them the day before. The older students assured them that there was always a pattern which they would learn quickly enough, but until then they had to rely on the goodwill of the talking, intelligent paintings that hung from the wall.

Charms itself quickly became an enormous letdown. As soon as Flitwick finished calling roll he gave a quick call of "wands away" and was answered with a roomful of groans. He quickly explained that most of their class time for the first two months would be spent studying theory and wand movements. Naturally he was not the most well liked of teachers by Gryffindor House.

Their first bit of magic for the week came in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class on Wednesday afternoon. After a lecture on Gamp's Laws and their exceptions, essentially a list of dos and don'ts about Transfiguration, McGonagall handed out matchsticks and explained the basics behind how to transfigure any object into another object. They were then allowed, to their tremendous delight, to attempt to turn them into needles. No one actually fully succeeded, although Susan's had gone pointy, Harry turned his silvery, and Seamus Finnigan managed to put an eye in his, but no one particularly cared because they were actually casting spells.

Professor Binns, on the other hand, was the most boring teacher Harry had ever had in his life, ever. This was surprising, as one would imagine a class taught by a ghost would be awesome and exciting. As it turned out, not so much. The most exciting part of the class was the very beginning, when Binns floated in through the wall. The class then went downhill quickly, as the ghost did roll in such a dry monotone that Harry half expected him to start calling "Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?" He then turned to the board and began talking about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, apparently starting from the middle of the lecture as they were given no context whatsoever as to what was going on. Harry quite quickly decided that this class would be nap time. He could always nick Hermione's notes to study for the exam.

Friday finally came, which, according to the timetables they had received at the beginning of the week, meant it was time for Harry's most anticipated classes yet: Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Potions, as Harry understood from the Weasley Twins, was the single easiest way to prank a person. Slip a bit of Dye Draught or Essence of Goat into a person's goblet and you had instant amusement. Meanwhile Defense was Professor Black's class, and after hearing nothing but good things about him since arriving at Hogwarts Harry was eager to learn from him.

"So, what do you think Snape and Black are like?" Harry asked around a piece of bacon at breakfast that morning.

"Fred and George say Snape's a nightmare, really harsh on them," Ron supplied helpfully. Hermione snorted.

"Given their reputation that's not that surprising Ron," Susan said.

"Well, even McGonagall's strict with them, and they like her. But from what I hear Snape's Head of Slytherin, and he always favors them. He looks for the flimsiest excuses to take away other Houses' points and ignores Slytherins getting in trouble."

"He can't be that bad, I'm sure." Susan twisted around slightly towards the Hufflepuff table and spotted Neville a bit farther down, sitting with Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Hey Neville, Justin," she called. They turned to look at her. "You guys had Potions yesterday, right? How was Snape?" There was no audible response. Justin just shuddered, while Neville went pale and started looking around as if terrified that the very mention of Snape could summon him.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure he's great," Harry said with a wry grin. He cracked his knuckles. He had a feeling Snape would make a fun... target.

* * *

The dungeon (which quite disappointed Harry, as it was far more like a basement than a dungeon) in which Snape's classroom was held consisted of a desk at the front, a large number of tables and fire pits, and shelves upon shelves of bottled potions and ingredients which seemed to be in an internal war of interesting versus disgusting. The students all took their seats, setting up cauldrons over the pits and preparing their parchment and quills.

 _BANG!_  The doors flung open and Professor Snape, a greasy haired, hook nosed man with a goatee, swooped into the classroom with his robes billowing out behind him in an impressively menacing manner. He held in front of him a sheet of parchment, from which he immediately began reading off names. Everyone immediately responded to their name being called, not wanting to incur the impatience of this perfectly terrifying teacher. Even Harry, who'd prepared a selection of twelve snarky comments, dared not say anything other than "present." Once he had finished, Snape tossed the roll onto his desk and swept his eyes across the room.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he said, his voice little more than a whisper but carrying all the way to the back of the room. The corner of his mouth twitched, as though at least momentarily pleased that he had everyone's absolute attention. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…" he paused, and Harry gave him bonus points for dramatic effect. "I can teach you how to bottle fame; brew glory; even put a stopper on death. That is, if you aren't as ignorant a bunch as I usually have to teach."

Silence fell across the room. Harry felt the insatiable urge to stand and applaud, but fought it down. He had a sneaking suspicion that if he did the consequences would not be worth it.

"Patil!" The girl in question, first name Parvati, jumped in her seat. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Um… uh… I don't know, sir?" Parvati stammered out.

"Pitiful. I knew your father in school, Patil, and as arrogant and uncouth as he might have been he still would have known the answer in your shoes. Clearly neither you nor your sister had any desire to live up to even his pathetic standard." Parvati could only whimper. "Granger!" Snape turned his eye to Harry. "I had your sister the other day. An insufferable know-it-all even by Ravenclaw standards." Harry's cheeks burned with anger. Nobody talked about his sister like that but him. "Let's see how you compare, shall we? Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Harry glared at him.

"An apothecary," he spat. Snape's eyes widened; it appeared he was unused to such a harsh response on the first day. "Or I suppose I could stick my hand in a goat's stomach, but then, why would I need to?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Granger," Snape snarled. Harry just gave him a perverse grin. "Bones, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Nothing, sir," Susan answered. "They're the same plant." She had a thoughtful look about her. "Although isn't that more an Herbology question?"

"Herbology and Potions are incontrovertibly linked," Snape sneered. "Working knowledge of the former is required for the latter, or you will quickly find yourself and anyone around you exploding. Five points from Gryffindor." Susan blinked, uncertain of what she'd said to lose points.

"Granger, for all his disrespect, was correct, as was Bones. It is… refreshing to see Gryffindors who have actually taken enough interest in Potions to even glance at their book. The same cannot be said of Patil, who did not know that asphodel and wormwood are key ingredients in a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the Draught of Living Death. And the same cannot be said about anyone else in this room, it seems. A point from every Gryffindor that hasn't been writing this down, and an additional point for every second that goes by that you are  _not_  writing it down." There was a flurry of movement from the Gryffindor side as parchment, quills and ink were rapidly extracted from bags. Wisely, no one pointed out that the Slytherins hadn't written anything either. Harry scribbled down his notes automatically, out of House pride, but was barely concentrating on them, instead hanging on to one solid fact:

Target number one: identified.


End file.
